6 Vogue Editors Remember Their Catholic School Uniforms—And How They Shaped Their Style

As soon as this year’s Met Gala theme was announced—in case you missed it, it’s “Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination”—talk within Vogue HQ quickly turned to editors’ Catholic school memories, which, inevitably, turned to uniforms. Some of my colleagues saw the charm in our plaid jumpers, button-downs, and Mary Janes, but many of us—including this writer—rolled their eyes and grumbled about how uniforms limited their self-expression and turned them into churchgoing clones. (Sorry, is that a bit dramatic?)

I’ll admit that having a uniform certainly got me out the door faster in the morning, but it didn’t make me any less interested in fashion. Quite the opposite, actually. Since I loathed the uniform I wore for nine whole years, from kindergarten through eighth grade, I would race home after school to try on four or five different outfits, just for fun. That uniform included a white polo shirt, a hunter green plaid skirt or a jumper (but no one wore a jumper after third grade), or bland khaki pants, which we wore in the winter—that is, until Uggs reached the Midwest in 2004. I rationalized wearing my skirt without tights since my feet were wrapped in cozy shearling, and felt vindicated for discovering the anti-pants loophole.

I don’t really wear Uggs anymore, but I’d like to think the experience partly inspired my interest in accessories. In kindergarten, my twin sister and I wore patent leather Dr. Martens with our jumpers, and later, we became hyper-selective about the sneakers, clogs, and earrings we wore with our plain-Jane polos and skirts. To this day, I’m still more willing to invest in jewelry, a bag, or a pair of shoes than a single sweater or dress; they’re pieces I can wear every day (sort of like a uniform, I guess).

Vogue Senior Fashion News Writer Janelle Okwodu shared similar sentiments. “I had a uniform all through Catholic school and I hated it deeply,” she said. “In retrospect, it wasn’t so bad—a gray plaid skirt or a jumper, a vest, a white button-down, and oxfords or loafers. At the time, I felt it was standing in the way of my wearing something incredibly colorful and exciting. I would attempt to customize my uniform by wearing slightly different socks or putting a pin on my lapel, or I would put barrettes in my hair. I think that instilled in me a lifelong appreciation for ugly shoes—I have more oxfords and loafers now than is acceptable.”

In high school, Senior Video Producer Dayna Carney hated her uniform, too—“so much that I left after freshman year,” she said. “It wasn’t exactly a uniform, but a very strict dress code. I remember the awful khakis and everyone wearing doubled-up Lacoste polos . . . honestly, I would’ve rather just had an actual uniform.” In fact, Fashion News Writer Brooke Bobb went to the same high school in Chicago and said she would’ve preferred a standard uniform, too. “We had to wear polo shirts or collared blouses tucked in and buttoned to the collar bone with black or khaki pants, skirts had to fall no less than a millimeter above the kneecap, and we were not allowed to wear no-show socks,” she explained. “Denim was forbidden, as was clothing with a logo or writing on it. Should you violate any of these rules, you received a JUG, which stands for ‘Justice Under God’ and is basically detention. Worrying if my stretchy black Express pants would be allowed was frankly a waste of time every morning, and it made it difficult for kids to find their own style and express themselves. We all looked the same—like tidy little robots wearing popped collars and North Face backpacks. For someone like me who loved fashion from a young age, it was difficult to customize, and thus painfully boring. No rolled-down Ugg boots with my pleated skirt, you say? I’d rather just wear a uniform.”

Fashion News Editor Monica Kim had a similar dress code at her Wisconsin elementary school, but there were a few exceptions. “We definitely couldn’t wear jeans, except on special ‘jeans days,’ which occurred either as a special treat or a bribe,” she said. “During football season, you could wear jeans if you also wore a Packers jersey. I wouldn’t take the bait and have harbored a lifelong resentment of the Packers.” By middle school, she started experimenting more boldly: “I vaguely recall being able to get around the no-jeans rule with colorful denim, usually from Limited Too, which seemed to confuse the teachers. I remember wearing white and periwinkle flares covered in glitter without any complaints. I also hated wearing belts, so I would string a ribbon through the loops as a ‘belt’ to keep them from nagging me about it,” Kim said. “For high school, I convinced my parents to enroll me elsewhere, and to be honest, losing the dress code certainly played a big role in that choice. Without the freedom to wear whatever I wanted then, I don’t think I would have found myself where I am now.”

I chose my Jesuit high school for several reasons—it wasn’t strictly Catholic, so I had Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, and agnostic classmates, too, and the vibe was pretty liberal, with an emphasis on community service and individuality—but the fact that it didn’t have uniforms was really what piqued my interest. I couldn’t believe anyone would choose to wear khaki pants and polos for another four years at a Catholic high school. My school did have a dress code, but it was surprisingly lax: no sweatpants, no hemlines above your fingertips, no low-cut tops. Girls were even allowed to wear sleeveless tops and dresses as long as their bra straps weren’t showing. One day at the end of the school year, we were eating lunch outside when our brusque, terrifying dean appeared and looked at my outfit: I was wearing a flowy Free People dress with thin crochet straps, plus a white tank top underneath for extra coverage. He scowled and attempted to snap my “bra strap”—I wasn’t wearing one, so it was just my dress—and told me to put on a jacket. (I’d like to think he would be seriously reprimanded, if not fired, for attempting to snap a student’s bra in 2018.)

Questionable administrators aside, here’s my other question: In all those years of resisting our uniforms, did they actually shape our style? Maybe, and perhaps they’re still influencing us on a subconscious level. Vogue’s Fashion News and Emerging Platforms Editor, Steff Yotka, drew a few parallels between then and now: “I remember being gutted, even at 6 years old, at the thought of a uniform and did everything in my power to work around it. Despite being a single-digit age, I wore eight-hole Dr. Martens boots in black every day with ‘oops I fell on the playground’ ripped black tights and my hair in high pigtails just above my ears. Strangely, my style hasn’t evolved much past that: I still have the eight-hole Docs, the same haircut, and the urge for a plaid summer dress.”

“I would say to this day, I have a special fondness for clothes that reference my old schoolgirl uniform,” Kim added. “I love pleated skirts, plaid, knee socks, and platform loafers, in particular. I’m still not a huge fan of khakis or belts in their official pant loops.” I haven’t worn a plaid skirt since 2005, but perhaps I’m still drawn to the idea of a uniform—I certainly have my go-to combination of clothes to streamline my life, usually involving high-rise jeans, a tucked-in blouse, ballet flats, and earrings. For me, it often comes down to the little details and personal touches, like jewelry, which I learned early on. My mom maintains that I “loved” my uniform in kindergarten, but I think I just liked how she accessorized it for me: tiny hoop earrings, a round-collar (not pointy!) polo, a plaid scrunchie to match my jumper, and those Dr. Martens. Thanks, Mom, for understanding me on a cellular level, even at age 5.